Always There
by Miirkaelisaar
Summary: As a child, Russia learned life was cruel and no one was truly good. As the world becomes bigger, he must learn to live with other nations. But only one of them will every truly understand him; only one is always there. PLEASE REVIEW! I LOVE REVIEWS!
1. Epilogue  Fire in the Sky

**Epilogue - Fire in the Sky**

_The fire burned against a pitch black sky, stark red and orange flaring over white snow that still fell in the crumbling capital. People screamed, shouted, ran for their lives. Their violent neighbors were invading and there was nothing they could do. The palace was gone, the princes were dead._

_A woman ducked into an alley, sobbing quietly and holding a small boy and girl against her large bosom. She ran through the dark as the fires roared around and screams split the air. The boy clutched at her neck, crying and confused. She tried to shush him and he choked on his tears, putting his fists over his mouth in an attempt to shut himself up._

_Heavy footfalls rushed toward them, the woman gasped and ducked into a half-demolished house. She stumbled over chunks of stone and wood, willing herself not to fall or to drop the children that clung so desperately to her. She had to make it... if she could get out of here and get to any border, someone would help them._

_Suddenly a door in front of them burst open. The woman screamed, staggering backward and trying to turn around, only to be halted by those who had crept up behind them. Surrounded, the woman wrapped herself around the two children, screaming and pleading as the men tried to open her arms and tear them away._

_As the boy was suddenly torn from her arms, she gave a feral cry, jumping up and trying to grab him back. A man swung a fist and hit her in the temple; she made a pained sound and crumpled to the floor. The little boy gasped seeing her fall, trying to wrench himself away from the man holding him as he screamed in his native tongue, tears falling down his face. The man easily hefted him over one shoulder, turning and walking away as the boy kicked and screamed. The small girl, only a toddler, wailed in confusion and fear as she was left all alone, shaking the woman's listless form and reaching her arms out desperately to the boy being carried off…_


	2. The Tatar Yoke

**The Tatar Yoke**

"I told you to stop using those words, boy." The tall, dark man's long black plait swung dangerously as he whirled around, whacking the now ten-year-old boy across the arm with a switch. The boy made a pained gasp and glared at the man for a second before the man raised a fist, causing his expression to immediately change to one of fear. "You will speak my language like I've had you taught. No more muttering those horrible sounds, you understand?"

"Da."

The man hit him again, at his hip, livid. "I said don't!" And again, across his shoulders. "DO YOU understand?" He spat angrily.

The boy whimpered, nodding and speaking in the man's language. "Yes…"

"Good." The man sneered, grabbing the boy's arm and thrusting him toward a nearby handmaid. "Clean him up and dress him, I don't need him disgusting my guests." The handmaid nodded and took the boy's hand gently, keeping her gaze down until the man left and then leading the boy away. She warmed water for a bath in a large basin and washed the sullen boy with care he knew nowhere else. She dried him and led him out again, and dressed him in heavy robes, his enemy's clothes…

...

...

He sat at the table and stared at the food in front of him. Only when the dark man turned to him, black eyes holding a hidden threat as he told the boy it was rude not to eat when you have guests eating with you, that he reluctantly picked up his silverware, cutting into the meat on his plate and grimacing at the blood that trickled out. He'd never gotten used to the way they ate here…

...

It was dark and he wasn't quite awake yet. Rough hands grabbed him and he whimpered, trying to push them away. He smelled something harsh, alcohol on breath, and the hands pulled him closer. Tears ran down his face as he shook his head, pleading as the man ignored him and tore his clothes off. He didn't want this. Not again. Please not again…

...

The snow was blinding but he couldn't stop. Not even while shouts got closer. He heard a rapid whistling sound and his heart almost stopped, envisioning the arrows falling around him in the blizzard. He was so close to his border he could feel it almost tugging him onward. He couldn't die now. The arrows stopped and he ran onward, feeling hopeless as he heard the sound of a hoofed animal galloping behind him. Suddenly something heavy hit him, pinning him to the ground. The man gave a feral laugh, punching the preteen boy in the side.

"Agh!" The boy cried out, jerking and trying to push the man off. "Let me go! I am done! LET ME GO!" He screamed and threw his head back, nearly smashing the man's face with his skull. The man stood up, hitting the boy as hard as he could across the face and grinning at the satisfying crack.

"You want to go? You'll never make it without me, stupid. You know you were just a small child when I found you. You would have died then." The man spat, grabbing the boy by the front of his clothes and shaking him roughly. "If you want to leave you want to die!"

"Shut up!" The boy shoved the man with what little strength he had left, jumping up and trying to limp away.

"No, Rus'…" The man growled, grabbing the boy from behind and causing him to stumble backwards. "You leave... you die." Suddenly he grabbed a fistful of the boy's ashen hair, yanking his head back. The boy cried out angrily and reached up, attempting to grab the man's face. There was a flash of light reflecting as the man pulled the long dagger from under his robes, pressing it to the boy's throat. "Without me… you die."

The boy's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to plead, but wasn't given a chance as the blade was roughly drawn across his pale skin, blood gushing from the wound and from his mouth as he gasped for air. The man released him and the boy collapsed, gurgling as his blood stained the snow and ice.

"Now you can leave." The man growled, kicking the boy in the side and eliciting no response. He made a sound of anger and jumped back on his mount. "See what you've done? I could have used you! Kept you! Protected you! Now look! This is your fault! Yours! You fool!" He spat on the ground, gritting his teeth, before turning around and riding back into the flurry of snow.

The boy raised a hand, trembling, reaching out as the man disappeared from view. The pain was starting to become more real as the seconds passed, and his strangled cries became more desperate. His eyes, dull and unfocused, drooped nearly closed as he tried to force himself to his hands and knees. He could still feel that tug inside, pulling him. He blinked at the trail of blood beneath him, cutting a river in the snow, flowing steadily in one direction, as if he needed to follow it.

After what could have been seconds or hours the boy was on his feet, staggering blindly forward. He pressed his hands to his torn throat and bent forward into the wind as he walked, trying to breathe while blood filled his mouth. He felt a rushing in his head and heard his heart pounding louder, glancing up he saw a line of trees before everything faded to black…


	3. Friend?

**Friend?**

"Ivan? Did you hear me?"

Shaken from his thoughts, an adolescent Russia snapped his head up, breaking his gaze with the tabletop and meeting eyes with the tall, thin, wavy haired man standing at the other end, speaking to the small group of people in the room.

"Hn?" He perked up, realizing he'd completely spaced out on whatever Peter was talking about. Despite his rudeness the man chuckled, shaking his head.

"You always remind me of another Ivan I knew."***** He remarked casually, waving a hand dismissively. "I was saying, we're starting to pay more attention to foreign affairs. The world is bigger now than it was and it's time to start making allies."

"…what is allies?" Ivan frowned. He'd never heard the word and he certainly didn't know how to make one. He didn't even know how to make his bed. Perhaps he should start paying more attention to these stupid political meetings.

"An ally is like a friend." Peter nodded, making it sound simple. Ivan felt his face heat up slightly and wondered if he was just stupid.

"What… is friend?"

Peter gave the boy an odd look of confusion, glancing at the other people in the room who simply shrugged. The tall man looked thoughtful, slowly pacing along the table toward the confused Russia, who fidgeted with his overlong scarf. Peter had always wondered why Ivan chose to wear that thing even sitting closest to the fireplace of all of them.

"A friend…" He tapped a finger against his lip, trying to think of how to explain it. "A friend is someone who makes you happy. Who will protect you when you need it, who you can depend on. You understand?" He tried to smile, corner of his mouth twitching.******

"Nyet…" Ivan shook his head, feeling bad. How was he supposed to help his people get this 'ally' thing if he didn't even understand? He hated being confused. It just made him angry. He sighed, exasperated, not surprised when the action caused Peter to take a casual step back, smile twitching again and faltering.

"Ivan… do not be upset. If you don't know you will learn."

The teen nodded, sighing again. Peter watched him for a moment before speaking again.

"So we're going to have visitors from far away, and we have to show them we want to be friends. Which means we'll be polite and show them around." He smiled his twitchy smile again. "I'm sure you'll be good at that Ivan." The boy frowned doubtfully. He knew he wasn't polite, any lady in the capital who met him could tell that much.

"I try…" He shrugged, tracing his fingers over the tabletop absently. Peter frowned slightly at this, jaw twitching.

"I hope so.."

Ivan sighed, fidgeting with the idiot shirt he was being made to wear. Peter had decided to change their fashion to the Western type, to fit in with their new 'friends'. Well whatever a 'friend' was, Ivan didn't like it. All they did was change things and cause new rules. He grunted trying to get his waistcoat (whatever the hell that was) over the dumb shirt before getting frustrated and tossing it onto his bed.

He looked in the mirror at the frilly atrocity with the poofy cuffs he was supposed to wear downstairs, and shuddered. With a sigh he picked up the hat, an odd chunk of leather with strange random curves in the brim, and threw it on the floor, kicking it under his bed in the hopes no one would find it and make him wear it.

Glancing in the mirror again he realized he looked very stupid with this stupid shirt tucked into the ridiculous breeches. He angrily untucked the shirt, ruffling it with his hands to mess it up and wrinkle it. As an added measure he also started messing up his hair, and decided not to buckle the uncomfortable heeled shoes he had to wear. Satisfied with his rebellion, he trudged downstairs and through the palace to the dining hall, where a large group of important people were already gathered. Good, he was late too.

Ivan made his way to his usual seat, to the right of the chair at the head of the table where Peter himself sat, facing everyone. He noted Peter's disappointed frown but ignored it, choosing to stare at the empty plate before him as if disinterested in everything. He heard Peter clear his throat, muttering just loud enough for the boy to hear.

"Where is your hat and coat?"

"I am no wearing them." Ivan replied in just as low a voice, though everyone along the table seemed to notice him talking.

"I told you, our guests would appreciate us showing our knowledge of their fashion.."

"Is not fashion, it is stupid." Ivan retorted at a normal volume, raising a few eyebrows nearby as Peter's face twitched.

"Ssh, stop that, Ivan. Be respectful. It is not up to you what is fashionable or stupid…" Peter hissed, giving him a stern look. "Just take off that scarf."

"Nyet."

"You look ridiculous and we have company.."

"Nyet."

"Ivan, it's-"

"Nyet."

Peter sighed, shaking his head and deciding to ignore Ivan's antics in favor of addressing his guests. "I am sorry. As I was saying, I am honored to welcome you to our home. We hope this will bring us closer to obtaining a place for ourselves among the nations of the world." Peter paused to turn to Ivan. "Ivan, this is Jean Casimir Baluze." He gestured to a short bald man with a prominent moustache, sitting next to a strikingly different tall blonde man. "He is a diplomat from the nation of France. Say hello."

"Hn." Ivan nodded, disinterested, earning him another noticeable twitch from Peter.

"Ivan…"

"Non, non, monsieur Romanov. It is not a problem." Baluze waved a hand dismissively. "Children can be that way."

"I am not child." Ivan suddenly spoke up loudly, his voice carrying as he straightened up in his seat.

"Ivan!" Peter snapped, causing the boy to sit back in his seat immediately.

"I am not-"

"I don't care what you think you are. You will be respectful." Peter interrupted him. Ivan frowned and slumped in his seat, pouting.

"I apologize; Ivan has quite a short fuse." Peter explained, and Ivan bit his lip to keep from talking back. "We are glad to welcome you." He spoke for a few more minutes on official things and then asked for dinner to be served. Ivan picked at his food grouchily, just wanting to go to his room. "Ivan, it's rude not to eat when you have guests over." Peter reminded him, and something about the words made Ivan's blood suddenly boil and he growled menacingly as he stabbed a potato with his fork, effectively silencing the Tsar.

Finally Peter announced that quarters were made up for the guests to stay, and that he intended to have a formal meeting tomorrow afternoon. Finally free, Ivan jumped from his seat and hurriedly escaped the dining hall, lest Peter decide to chastise him or something.

Later before bed, Ivan found himself in a lonely staircase thinking to himself, prodding a fresh spider-web in a windowsill with a feather he'd plucked from one of his old pillows and giggling softly as the angry resident of said web curled into a menacing little ball and vibrated, clinging to what was left of the web. He thought of the spider's predicament, wondering if it felt a lot like he did, trapped in this palace while people prodded him and made him angry.

He poked the spider itself and the tiny bug seemed to decide it had had enough. It hopped onto the retreating feather and scurried to Ivan's fingers before he had a chance to react.

"OW!" Ivan stood quickly as a tiny lightning bolt went through his finger and hand, immediately banging his head on the stair railings before falling back onto the stairs directly on his rear. Angry tears of pain welled in his eyes and he growled, rubbing the top of his head with one hand and clenching his other into a fist as his finger throbbed. He looked around for the spider, wanting to kill it for hurting him, but it had already escaped.

Ivan sniffled and moved to stand up, wincing as his back hurt. He'd fallen right on his tailbone and it hurt badly. Stupid spider. He hated them all. He sniffled again, starting to cry quietly since he was alone anyway, until he heard a few soft footsteps coming up from the next landing down and quickly wiped his eyes.

"What are you doing zere?" A low voice said softly; the man ascended the stairs in front of Ivan, it was the blonde man who sat next to the funny bald diplomat person. Up close Ivan realized he was tall, almost as tall as Peter, who was very very tall. His golden hair was tied into a loose tail in back, random strands hanging down and slightly wavy. His clear blue eyes and his mouth both smiled at Ivan.

"Nothing." Ivan answered quickly, grabbing the railing to stand up like nothing was wrong, though he grimaced at the tingling pain still going through his spine. He hated falling down…

"Are you 'urt?" The man's face shifted slightly into an expression of gentle concern and he took a few more steps to where Ivan was sitting, holding a hand out to the teen. His hands looked strong, but he had such long, thin fingers. Like a woman's. He also dressed like a woman, in Ivan's opinion. So many frills, and all purples and reds. It was so flashy it hurt his eyes. The man wore huge rings on his fingers as well.

"I am fine…" Ivan hesitated but finally took the man's hand, allowing him to help him up though he winced at the movement. He frowned, looking away. "I fall.." He admitted quietly.

The man smiled softly. "Well zese old staircases can be treacherous, non?"

"I.. because I hit my head." He blushed slightly, bringing his hand up to rub his head again, still keeping his other hand clenched tight into a fist.

"Aww," the man's brows stitched a bit, sadly. "Zat must 'ave 'urt. 'Ere, let me look at it?" He reached out and gently pulled Ivan closer by his shoulder, feeling the boy's head. "Ah, you 'ave a little bump, but it will 'eal." He seemed to notice Ivan's clenched hand was shaking. "You 'urt your 'and as well?"

Ivan blushed more, not one to admit he'd hurt himself thrice in a matter of seconds. "Spider bite me.. then I hit my head, then I fall…" He explained in a small voice, flustered.

The man made a clucking sound with his tongue, shaking his head. "Spiders are cruel little beasts, you know. You should try not to play wiz zem." He gave Ivan an understanding smile and held out a hand. "Let me see." Ivan reluctantly held his hand out and the man checked his finger. A spot near his first knuckle where the spider had bitten him had already begun to swell painfully.

"Ah, 'e got you good, non?" He chuckled, leaning down slightly and gently putting his lips to Ivan's knuckle before the boy could ask what he was doing. He froze as he suddenly felt the man sucking on his finger. For some reason it made his face and neck start to feel hot. He felt confused and wondered if he should pull away, but before he could decide the man straightened back up, turning to spit daintily out the window. "Zere, zat fixes ze swelling." He smiled, releasing Ivan's hand.

"Why you do that?" Ivan asked, examining his finger, which indeed had stopped swelling so much. He was unaware how red his face was, only knowing he was uncomfortably warm and confused.

"To get ze poison out." He noticed Ivan suddenly look alarmed and corrected himself. "Oh, non, it is only a tiny bit of poison, not enough to 'urt you. But zat is what makes ze pain."

"Oh.." Ivan looked relieved. "Well e… spasibo…"

"C'est ne pas probleme." The man smiled, putting a gentle hand on Ivan's lower back. "Let me 'elp you to your room." Ivan nodded and allowed the man to help him up the stairs, where his room stood alone in a wing apart from other living quarters. "Is zere a reason you are all alone up 'ere?" The man looked around as Ivan opened the door to his room revealing a slightly large, but very boring room.

"I don't… like people." Ivan admitted with a frown. "…They don't like me."

"I am sure zat is not true." The man smiled and chuckled. "I like you."

Ivan looked surprised for a moment, gawking at the man before speaking. "Really? …spasibo…" He said quietly. It was silly for the man to like him, he didn't even know what his name was. "I… I am Ivan. But you know that…" He blushed a bit remembering how Peter chastised him.

"Oui, I know." The man smiled and nodded, reaching out to take Ivan's hand. "I am Francis Bonnefoy. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ivan." He smirked, pressing a kiss to Ivan's knuckles. The boy felt his face get warm again as the man stood up. "You are probably tired. Sleep well, and I will see you at ze meeting, oui?"

"Da." Ivan nodded, now feeling like he might want to attend the meeting tomorrow instead of hiding from Peter like he was planning to. The man smiled and winked before he left, closing the door behind him. Ivan wondered at how different the man was from anyone else he'd ever met. He continued to wonder as he changed into his nightclothes and lay in his bed. His brows furrowed a bit as he murmured Peter's words aloud. "A friend… someone who make you happy…"

**AN:**

*** Peter "the Great" ruled alongside his half-brother Ivan from 1682-1696; the latter was chronically ill and mentally unstable. Ivan died when Peter was only 24.**

**** Peter the Great had noticeable facial tics (twitches or spasms) that were assumed to be the result of a form of epilepsy.**

**Translations:**

**_Spasibo_ – thank you**

**_C'est ne pas probleme_ – it's no problem**


End file.
